A Sporting Chance
by Snowballjane
Summary: Fun, games and some visitors to Enterprise.


Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters etc etc etc That all belongs to Paramount. I'm just using them for practice and pleasure...  
  
This story features just about everyone (except Porthos) - no shippiness.  
  
Please review this story. It'll help me make the next one better.  
  
Queries regarding archiving by email to snowballjane@yahoo.co.uk  
  
  
  
"What is the purpose of this activity?" asked Sub-Commander T'Pol. If the small group of Starfleet officers standing around in the emptied cargo bay didn't know better they would have thought she sounded more irritated than puzzled at the idea of the up-coming tournament.  
  
"To win! Oh yeah and to have fun," grinned Ensign Travis Mayweather, warming up with a few stretches.  
  
T'Pol raised an eyebrow and looked less keen than ever on the impending contest.  
  
"Look at it this way Sub-Commander," said Lt Reed. "It improves fitness, co- ordination and teamwork.." He slipped into a passable impression of the ship's chief engineer "...and the armoury team are goin' ta whup your scientific asses."  
  
T'Pol didn't rise to it. She walked over to join the other four members of her team. She looked about two inches shorter than normal having changed out of her normal heels into a pair of training shoes at Archer's insistence. The flatter shoes somehow made her dignified walk look like that of a petulant child.  
  
"First up, engineering versus medics and languages," called out Captain Archer. Trip Tucker and the rest of the engineering team jogged out onto the 'pitch,' the chief muttering that it 'wasn't proper football'. Archer blew the whistle and the Enterprise five-a-side football (soccer) tournament was underway.  
  
The contest had been proposed several days earlier at a wardroom meeting of the senior staff. Dr Phlox had raised the issue of general crew fitness and insisted that most people on board could do with a bit more exercise.  
  
"I believe that for humans, physical exertion can be very beneficial," he added.  
  
"Everyone on board was put through intensive fitness testing before we left doctor," the captain said.  
  
"Yes, but they've been cooped up on a starship for months. And not everyone does 30 laps of C deck each day before starting duty," noted the doctor with a nod to Commander Tucker.  
  
It was Lt Reed who chipped in with the suggestion: "Cargo bay one is big enough for a five-a-side pitch. And we could do with a little friendly rivalry between departments."  
  
"Five-a-side what?" quizzed Commander Tucker, putting on a look of genuine puzzlement.  
  
"Football."  
  
"Ya can't play football with five men on a team."  
  
Through clenched teeth Reed uttered the word no true Englishman can stand. "Soccer, Mr Tucker."  
  
Trip chuckled. "I know, I'm just teasin' ya."  
  
It was unanimously agreed and the ship's various departments began training with varying degrees of enthusiasm.  
  
The first match was something of a foregone conclusion. Engineering were favourites to win, especially since crewman Sanchez had been on the Starfleet first team as a cadet. Poor Ensign Hoshi Sato put her all into goal-keeping but Dr Phlox and Ensign Cutler played like a pair of lemons, giving away passes, tripping over their own feet and even over each other's feet. After the 10 minutes each way match was finished. Hoshi collapsed exhausted and shaking her head between Travis and Reed, onto one of the crates being used as makeshift seating.  
  
"Six-nil, dear oh dear," chuckled the armoury chief. The exhausted comm officer harrumphed and was forced to put her hands over her ears as the two men who proceeded to good-heartedly offer goal-keeping tips.  
  
The second match saw T'Pol's sciences team face the chef and stewards.  
  
More than a few of the watching human crew had to suppress fits of laughter as the Vulcan got her feet in a tangle and tripped over the ball in the first few moments of the match.  
  
The scientists, none of them very ept at the game, had very little possession and were soon two-nil down. But just after the teams had changed ends a pass by the chef went awry and the ship's second-in-command suddenly found the ball at her feet. She swung her leg back and walloped the ball as hard as she could.  
  
T'Pol's stiff-legged kick was dead on target and whistled past the mess- team goalie. Exo-biologist Russell jumped up to give his team-mate the traditional congratulatory hug but was stopped dead by her icy glare.  
  
"Er. well done Sub-Commander," he muttered, and shuffled away embarrassed at the very idea of trying to hug a Vulcan.  
  
"Nice one T'Pol," complemented the captain.  
  
"I believe the referee is supposed to remain neutral," she countered.  
  
There were just two minutes before the final whistle when the match was rudely interrupted.  
  
"Bridge to the cargo bay one stadium."  
  
Archer blew his whistle to halt the game. "Archer here."  
  
"There's a ship hailing us, sir."  
  
"On my way."  
  
Archer and the rest of the bridge crew ran out of the cargo bay and headed for the lifts.  
  
*******  
  
After a spluttering false start in translating the high pitched nasal whine the UT caught up with the alien's language. ".. The Trufla We mean you no harm. We are explorers seeking new games.. Greetings, my name is Scorat Captain of the Bigwin We are the Trufla we mean you no harm."  
  
"Games? Hoshi, are you sure that's right. Not 'new worlds', 'new civilisations'?"  
  
"No, sir. The only alternative the translator is offering is 'fun'. It's possible that they are a pleasure driven society maybe."  
  
"Ok, open a channel," said Archer, his face creasing into his standard 'officially friendly' smile.  
  
"This is Captain Jonathan Archer of the Starship Enterprise. Your timing is excellent Captain Scorat. We are in the middle of a game of football right now. We'd be delighted to have guests."  
  
*******  
  
The aliens didn't look like members of a pleasure driven society, thought Hoshi. The five males who had just come aboard were a little taller and a lot bulkier than the average human male. Their gait was that of extremely muscular men and reminded Hoshi a little of the posturing Klingons. The bony eyebrow structure gave the impression of a permanent frown. Or maybe they were frowning. It was so hard to tell. Hoshi took a deep breath. If the ships communication specialist was going to start judging by appearances, she thought, humanity might as well give up on extending the hand of friendship to the rest of the galaxy.  
  
Still, even an amateur anthropologist would have to draw conclusions about their outfits - and particularly the large shards of jagged metal each man wore on his chest. Were they rank insignia? Their leader Scorat had three, each about 5 inches long and they looked razor sharp. Hoshi couldn't help but think they were rather dangerous things to be wearing over the heart - an awkward fall could be fatal.  
  
Lt Reed caught her glance and nodded briefly. She might have known Malcolm would be bothered by aliens bringing sharp objects on board, even if they were only symbolic. But he knew as well as she did the delicate steps involved in first contacts. The smallest thing could cause offence. Asking someone to remove their badge of rank was probably a no-no.  
  
Captain Archer was leading the party to the cargo bay, chatting to Scorat about how the football tournament had come about. Hoshi could tell the Captain was nervous - he was talking too much. Their last few first contacts had met with unfriendly and even hostile reactions.  
  
By the time they reached the cargo bay the two teams - Navigation systems and Armoury were already warming up. Malcolm Reed ran to join his team in a practice kickabout as the captain searched a comfortable looking crate and offered the aliens a seat.  
  
"Enjoy the game," he said, crossing his fingers, before resuming his role as ref.  
  
Trip sat down with the party of aliens. They watched he first few minutes of the game in silence. The rest of the cargo bay was alive with cheers for what was proving to be the best match so far. The two teams were fairly evenly matched. Travis was the fastest man on the pitch and looked like scoring in the first minute, but the armoury team were as tight in the defence of their goal as they were in defence of their ship.  
  
A bit of spectacular passing play between Andrew Truman and Anke Witt paid off three minutes later and put the weapons experts in the lead. Malcolm grinned proudly and patted his two staff on the back. The pair had recovered from their recent ordeal and were even more of a double-act than ever - and their teamwork was paying off on the sports 'field' just as it did in weapons research.  
  
"What happens to the losers?" asked Scorat abruptly, turning to Trip.  
  
"Well, nothing really."  
  
"Then what is the point."  
  
"This game bores us."  
  
"I know whatcha mean," grinned Trip, preparing to extol the virtues of baseball and American rules football. He didn't have chance. Scorat stood up, simultaneously tearing one of the metal sherds from his chest. He flung the sharp metal 30 feet , whistling through the airing past several players and finally embedding itself in the football which was being dribbled by Mayweather.  
  
"Damn," muttered the young Ensign as security officers reacted to the sudden attack and surrounded the visitors. "I had a clear shot on goal then."  
  
"How about chess?" suggested Hoshi.  
  
"Have you got a set?" asked Archer.  
  
"No - I didn't think board games were a priority when I was packing," she hissed back.  
  
"Anyone else?"  
  
Everyone shook their heads and the comm officer's shoulders sagged. After clearing up the 'misunderstanding' that it was culturally acceptable to puncture the Enterprise's only football, the Trufla had demanded of Archer that he find a game to satisfy them. The senior staff were engaged in a whispered conference about what games were available on board.  
  
"I've got computer battle chess," revealed Malcolm.  
  
"How exactly is that different from normal chess?" whispered Hoshi.  
  
Reed looked a little embarrassed. "Well, it's the same really, except it's got really cute graphics of the pieces fighting."  
  
"The Trufla do not appear to be a thoughtful people. I do not believe they would enjoy the mental rigors of chess," said T'Pol.  
  
"You play?" Reed and Sato asked simultaneously.  
  
"Yes, it is in my view one of the more interesting Earth games. I do not believe our guests would agree."  
  
"I think we can safely scratch Scrabble, Monopoly and dominoes too," sighed Reed.  
  
Archer frowned. Unless they found something to please their guests soon, he could chalk up yet another botched first contact. And now Scorat was starting to look tetchy. Very tetchy.  
  
"Maybe we should get Scorat to show us some of their games," suggested Archer. "That'd give us an idea of what they like."  
  
Tucker spluttered. "No thank you. Captain, remember the consequences last time I played alien games. That game with the glowy gravel was quite enough for me."  
  
Despite the gravity of the situation, Archer grinned at his friend's quip. "I'm fairly sure Scorat doesn't want to mate with you Trip."  
  
"Well, 'fairly' sure aint good enough. And I think they like games with consequences, they seemed mighty interested in what happened to the losers at football."  
  
"Maybe they sacrifce the losers - like the Mayans used to," suggested Reed.  
  
"Shhhh," hissed the human officers glancing nervously at the visitors who were getting restless at the far end of the room.  
  
"Barbaric," muttered T'Pol.  
  
Scorat got to his feet. "Pfah! I have had enough of this. These puny humans are wasting our time." His men also began to get to their feet. The tension in the room rose perceptibly.  
  
"Now hold on," said Archer, not happy at the idea of missing out on this golden opportunity to find out about the Trufla. "I'd be willing to bet that we could find a game you'd enjoy, perhaps if you want to get something to eat while we think."  
  
Scorat blinked. Then he smiled a thin smile. "Bet what?"  
  
Realization dawned. "Oh at this point I think I'd be willing to stake my grandmother. But as she's not here, I'm sure there's something in the cargo bay you'd be interested in."  
  
One hour later in the mess hall:  
  
A shout went up from one of the tables as Truman swept the pile of tokens from in front of one of Scorat's men into the mound in front of him. At another table Travis was serving as croupier for a game of blackjack. Scorat, Archer and a whole crowd of Enterprise staff were crowded around a makeshift craps table. The Trufla were, finally, amused.  
  
"They like gambling then," said Hoshi, slipping away from watching a card game and wandering over to where T'pol was standing in a corner staring at the rapidly created casino.  
  
"Yes, it seems to be deeply ingrained in their culture. It is illogical," said T'Pol. "It was fortunate that so many of the crew had cards or dice with them."  
  
The Trufla departed happy - if a little poorer.  
  
Lt Reed perched in a window bay of the mess hall, trying to repair the sagging football. The jagged metal had torn right through the leather and no amount of stitching seemed to make it airtight. Attempts to 'resequence' a ball had been equally unsatisfactory. It was a shame, a trophy or two would have brightened up the armoury.  
  
"Evening sir. No luck with the repairs?" Ensign Sato asked, as she and T'Pol walked in and sat down together at a table.  
  
"What's that you've got?" he asked, putting down the useless ball with a sigh. The two women were emptying a peculiar collection of objects - including various small engineering components and 16 spare comm badges - onto the table. Hoshi unfolded a the chequered board.  
  
"Enterprise's next competition," said T'Pol. "A chess tournament." 


End file.
